


Something To Talk About

by iamtheenemy (Steph)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale has some serious misconceptions, First Time, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-07 18:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19475014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steph/pseuds/iamtheenemy
Summary: He had the sudden and almost overwhelming desire to reach out and take Crowley’s hand. An absurd notion, of course. In 6000 years, Crowley had never shown any inclination towards physical affection for Aziraphale, despite their shared feelings. Aziraphale had long ago accepted that any gentle touch from him would have Crowley stepping hastily away and otherwise ignoring Aziraphale’s attempts. Or at least hehadaccepted it, until their delicate status quo had been disrupted.Aziraphale jumps to some very inaccurate conclusions.





	Something To Talk About

**Author's Note:**

> This story started out as one thing and ended up something very, very different. All part of the ineffable plan, I suppose.

**1793**

“Are you quite sure you won’t try the crepes?” Aziraphale asked, gesturing to his plate. “They really are delicious.”

Crowley shook his head and leaned back in his seat, his long legs extended out under the table and crossed at the ankle. “No thanks, angel. Not my thing.” 

Aziraphale was enjoying the excellent food and even better company. Crowley’s timely arrival had saved him from a grisly demise, followed by days worth of paperwork and a talking to from Gabriel. 

Now he sat across from Aziraphale and was watching him eat with a look on his face so fond that Aziraphale thought, _maybe just one more try_. With careful nonchalance, he shifted his own leg so that their calves brushed together beneath the table.

Crowley froze a moment, and then pushed himself up straight and removed the contact between them.

Aziraphale held in a sigh, the crepes suddenly not tasting as good as they had before.

“Excuse me,” he said lightly, giving them both an easy excuse to avoid making Crowley uncomfortable, “didn’t know your leg was there.” 

“Finish eating,” Crowley replied, taking a long swig of his wine.

*

After the world didn’t end, Aziraphale ate lunch at the Ritz. He indulged in both the raspberry tart and the strawberry macarons for dessert. Then Crowley dropped him off at the bookshop, and there he spent the rest of the evening sipping from a mug of cocoa that miraculously never emptied while cataloguing the changes that Adam made, from brand new books to refilled bottles of aged scotch.

As dawn broke, he took the time to savour the sunrise, keenly aware of the fact that he’d come very close to never seeing it again. Leaning against the door of the bookshop, Aziraphale watched as the city woke up around him. Ever so slowly, the humans began to bustle around: starting their work days, taking their kids to school, opening their shops, getting in their morning jogs. All the while none of them knew that, but for the whims of an eleven-year-old boy, this whole planet would have been gone in a blink of an eye.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sight of Crowley’s Bentley swerving to a stop on the kerb in front of him. Aziraphale grinned widely as his friend swaggered out of the car with a spring in his step. They hadn’t discussed seeing each other again today, but Aziraphale found himself both unsurprised and exceedingly pleased with this turn of events anyway.

Crowley took a moment to look Aziraphale up and down before asking, “What’s wrong with you?”

Aziraphale shook his head and used the hand holding his cocoa to gesture out at the cars and people and life around them. “I was thinking about what a lovely day it is.”

Crowley glanced up at the sky and tried to appear unimpressed, but Aziraphale could see right through him.

“Is it?” he asked. “Looks like rain later.”

“Crowley, I will not hear a single bad word about this planet today. Not today,” Aziraphale chided firmly. “Any special reason you dropped by?”

Crowley stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Bored,” he answered. “Call me short-sighted, but I didn’t have any plans past yesterday.”

Aziraphale gave him a commiserating look while taking a sip of his cocoa. “My plans won’t be particularly entertaining for you, I’m afraid, but you’re welcome to join me. I’m headed down to my tailor to pick up some clothes I ordered. I was supposed to get them last week, but then, you know, _things_.”

“ _Things_ ,” Crowley agreed darkly.

“Poor Gianni is probably dreadfully confused. If you’re up for it, it’s a lovely walk just a few blocks down that way. I’m sure we’ll be there and back before your rain hits,” Aziraphale assured him.

Crowley motioned for Aziraphale to lead the way. Aziraphale sent his mug back into the bookshop and they were off. It was quite a new and thrilling feeling to walk beside his dearest friend without the worry that anyone from their respective Head Offices would see. 

He had the sudden and almost overwhelming desire to reach out and take Crowley’s hand. An absurd notion, of course. In 6000 years, Crowley had never shown any inclination towards physical affection for Aziraphale, despite their shared feelings. Aziraphale had long ago accepted that any gentle touch from him would have Crowley stepping hastily away and otherwise ignoring Aziraphale’s attempts. Or at least he _had_ accepted it, until their delicate status quo had been disrupted. 

This newfound freedom was going to Aziraphale’s head. It was too nice a day to take himself down that path again. He settled for lacing his own fingers together in front of him.

Aziraphale was an angel, you see, and it was in his nature to desire to experience love in all its forms, including the physical. Demons didn’t have those same impulses, of course, and expecting that of Crowley was unreasonable. Crowley showed his feelings perfectly well through his actions, not through words or touch. Things like saving Aziraphale’s books during the blitz. Like returning, time and again, in the middle of an apocalypse, to try and talk sense into him.

It was entirely unreasonable. That’s why it had been over 200 years since the last time Aziraphale had tried, in that little cafe in Paris. 

If, perhaps, he provoked the demon occasionally to bait him into a bit of manhandling, well. Crowley was kind enough not to call him on it.

“Hang on,” said the man himself when they’d turned the corner, interrupting Aziraphale’s maudlin reverie. “What do _you_ get at a tailor’s? You’ve been wearing the same clothes for a hundred years.”

Aziraphale straightened his coat and brushed some lint off of his vest. “I get my trousers and shirts made specially, I’ll have you know,” he answered. “In fact, Gianni convinced me to try a new colour for my trousers this time. _Chestnut_. Being honest, I only agreed because I thought the world was going to end. What do you think?”

Crowley glanced down at him. “Those aren’t chestnut?”

“They’re sandstone!”

“If you say so.”

They walked along companionably for a bit before Aziraphale ventured gingerly, “Crowley? At the risk of spoiling this wonderful day by bringing up a sore topic, I did want to apologize to you for my behaviour this past week. The fact that I contemplated, however briefly, choosing my allegiance to those Upstairs over my allegiance to you was unacceptable.”

Crowley used two fingers to draw his glasses down his nose and stare at Aziraphale with unblinking golden eyes a moment. Then he pushed them back up and said, “End of the world and all. You came around eventually.”

“So you forgive me?” Aziraphale prompted.

“That’s not really my area, angel,” Crowley pointed out.

“Still, all the same…” Aziraphale said.

“All the same,” Crowley repeated, “I suppose I do. For whatever that’s worth.”

Aziraphale felt a weight melt off of his shoulders and knew that the grin he wore must look ridiculous. “It’s worth plenty, my friend.”

“Well. There we are, then,” Crowley said, clearly done with the topic. He had very little patience for Aziraphale discussing his feelings, but there was still one more thing left to say.

“And you have to know...” Aziraphale added, ignoring Crowley’s exasperated sigh. “You have to know that if our little plan - such that it was - didn’t work out, and the armies of Heaven and Hell began their Great War, of course I would have gone to Alpha Centauri with you.”

Crowley crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh?” he asked.

“Yes,” Aziraphale insisted. “Is it one of yours?”

He nodded.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful then,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley looked so fantastically uncomfortable with the praise that Aziraphale felt a fresh rush of affection for his silliness, even after 6000 years.

“Obviously,” Crowley said, shaking it off. “I have impeccable style.” 

*

It wasn’t until they walked into the tailor’s shop that Aziraphale realized his mistake. He blamed the nice day and averting the apocalypse and the pleasure of Crowley’s company for clouding his judgment.

“Mr. Fell!” Gianni exclaimed cheerfully. As usual, his hair was perfectly coiffed and a long tape measure hung around his neck. “I was wondering when…” It was then that his eyes landed on Crowley, entering the shop behind Aziraphale. 

_Oh dear,_ Aziraphale thought as some very crucial bits of information occurred to him far too late.

Gianni gasped. “Is this your Anthony?” he asked.

There was a long silence where the only movement came from Crowley swiveling his head to stare at Aziraphale, his eyebrows nearly up to his hairline.

“His _what_?” he asked. 

Aziraphale winced. “Actually, if I could just get my - “ he began, trying to cut off that line of questioning, before getting steamrolled by the tiny Italian man.

“You must be!” Gianni insisted, not picking up on any of Aziraphale’s cues, focused as he was on Crowley beside him. “You look exactly the way he described you, down to the sunglasses. For years, I’ve been telling him, I’ve been saying, ‘Bring him in! I want to meet the famous Anthony, at last!’ But always there’s an excuse. And now I know why! You’re even more handsome than he gave you credit for!” He shot Aziraphale a grin and a wink. “Afraid I’d steal him away, were you?”

Aziraphale laughed awkwardly. Where was the Almighty wrath of God when he needed it? 

Crowley remained as frozen as a statue, staring daggers into the side of Aziraphale’s head.

“Right. Just so. You got me,” Aziraphale stuttered. “But we are in a rather big hurry, so if I could get my order, that would be lovely.” 

“Anything for my favourite customer,” Gianni said. 

He wandered into the back room, and Crowley hissed, “What have you been telling people?” 

“It’s all…” Aziraphale started, but trailed off as Gianni returned with Aziraphale’s new clothing on hangers. 

“Here we are! All to your specifications. And this I am promising you: you are going to love the chestnut.”

Aziraphale didn’t bother inspecting the clothing the way he usually would. Instead, he used a bit of an ethereal touch to speed along the payment process. 

“And I expect to see you in next time, famous Anthony,” Gianni continued. “You must let me try some things out for you. Maybe an embroidered coat? Very tasteful.” 

“Good bye, Gianni!” Aziraphale chirped and nearly sprinted for the door, Crowley at his heels.

When they got back outside, Aziraphale quickly miracled his load of clothing back to the bookshop, and then began a rushed explanation before Crowley could say a word.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he said hurriedly. “It’s only that Gianni really does do great work, but he’s so chatty. Every time I go in, he asks me questions about my life. One day I mentioned you, and he’s never forgotten since. And yes, I know what you’re going to say,” he added.

“Do you?” Crowley asked in a peculiar tone of voice.

“That we weren’t supposed to ever talk about one another, lest our bosses find out. I didn’t give him your real name, you’ll notice,” Aziraphale defended himself, then added, “But now I can’t help but wonder if he’s how Michael found out about us. I’d feel terrible if my big mouth is what got us in all that trouble.”

“ _Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley said, pointing emphatically at the door they just walked out of, “that man thinks we’re…we’re...”

“I said ‘friend’, I did,” Aziraphale explained. “But it took me a few years to realize that when he said ‘your _friend_ Anthony, he meant something different than I did. After so long, I didn’t know how to correct him.” Not that Aziraphale tried very hard. It was nice having someone know the truth, even if it was only the tiniest sliver of the full story. Crowley appeared to be calming down, and so Aziraphale risked continuing, “But since we’re discussing this anyway, I was thinking...now that the cat’s out of the bag, so to speak, with our superiors, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if we were…” He chose his words carefully, “...less secretive about our relationship?” 

Crowley stared at him. “Sorry?”

“They know we’ve been helping each other, and I don’t know about your lot, but mine already think we’re together. Surely at this point it would hardly be a surprise to them that we’re in love too.”

Crowley threw both hands up in the air. 

All around them the world paused. Cars and people all froze mid-movement. Even the air stopped flowing. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Well, now you’re just being dramatic.”

“ _What did you say?_ ” Crowley demanded.

“I said that stopping time because you’re mad is childish and over-dramatic,” Aziraphale repeated, trying to hide his hurt at Crowley’s reaction.

“No. You said you’re _in love_ with me?”

“Yes?” Aziraphale answered, confused. “What of it?”

“What of it?” Crowley shouted, incredulous. “Since _when_?”

Aziraphale, thoroughly confused at this shift in topic, answered, “Since forever?”

Crowley pointed an accusing finger at him, which Aziraphale very much took umbrage with. 

“If you’re in love with me - “ Crowley yelled.

“ _If_...!” Aziraphale interrupted.

“ - then why haven’t you ever said a word about it? Not one single word in 6000 years?”

A sick, cold feeling of dread began to crawl up his spine. No. Surely not.

“Because you didn’t want me to!” he shouted back. Crowley made a sound like he was choking, and Aziraphale kept talking, desperate to prove his point. “Every time I say something nice about you, you either get angry or change the subject. Whenever I try to touch you, you jump back as though I’m coated in holy water. I can take a hint, you know.”

Crowley snorted in disbelief. He ran a hand through his auburn hair and turned away, walking a tense lap around his square of pavement and then arriving back at Aziraphale.

“You know,” he said gruffly, “some of us aren’t angels. Some of us can’t just go around feeling other people’s love. Some of us need to actually hear the words…”

The dread transformed itself into misery at Crowley’s words. A deep chasm of unbearable sadness cracked open inside of Aziraphale’s chest, so all-consuming that, for a moment, he couldn’t speak.

Finally, in a small and uneven voice, he managed to say, “Crowley, are you telling me that in all this time, you’ve never known how much I love you?”

Crowley groaned out a broken sound and lunged for him, grabbing Aziraphale’s face in both hands and crashing their mouths together. Aziraphale gasped against his lips but held on tightly, winding his arms around Crowley’s slim waist.

There was a popping sound, and Aziraphale broke away, panting, to look around. They were standing in a field.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Don’t know,” Crowley admitted, undeterred, and reeled him in again. Another pop and this time they were standing in Crowley’s bedroom. With a sharp shove to the shoulders, Aziraphale fell onto the bed. By the time his back touched the duvet, all his clothes were gone.

Crowley knelt at the end of the bed, towering over Aziraphale with a hungry look on his face, still completely dressed.

“Now you,” Aziraphale urged, reaching up to return the favour, but Crowley stopped him.

“Not yet,” he said. Taking the time to remove his glasses and toss them across the room, he eyed Aziraphale not unlike the way a fox would eye a henhouse. “You really think that I haven’t spent every day on Earth desperate to touch you?” 

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, his throat tight. Once again, he tried to touch Crowley, but was rebuffed. Crowley pushed his arms away with more force than was strictly necessary.

“No. Angels who wasted millennia withholding important information get to wait their turn,” he answered, and Aziraphale felt a hot, uncontrollable shiver run through him.

Crowley bent down, but instead of kissing Aziraphale’s lips, his mouth ended up on the tender skin of his neck. Aziraphale dutifully tilted his head back to give him more room. Crowley trailed a line of wet kisses along his throat, beneath his jaw and to the sensitive area behind his ear. 

He sucked on Aziraphale’s earlobe, taking it carefully between his teeth, and then placed his lips over his ear to whisper hotly, “You forget, angel. Demons invented lust.”

Aziraphale’s eyes squeezed shut and his fingers scrambled to grasp onto the messy sheets under him. If Crowley didn’t want him to touch, he’d adhere to his wishes, but oh, oh. Crowley’s clever hands and mouth went everywhere. 

Aziraphale squirmed when he ran light fingers up the inside of his arms. He shuddered at the feeling of a hot mouth on his peeked nipples and hands sliding achingly slowly down his sides. 

And through all of it, overwhelmingly, there was love. So much love coming off of Crowley in waves that were liable to pull Aziraphale under if he wasn’t careful. 

Then he remembered what Crowley said earlier, and decided to put his own feelings into words.

“Oh, I love you,” he gasped. 

“Hmm…” Crowley responded to that, now hovering over Aziraphale’s navel. He dipped his tongue in and Aziraphale made a high pitched noise at the ticklish sensation. “You were ready to leave me. You told me it was over.”

Aziraphale frowned and tried to collect himself. “You...you said you forgave me,” he managed.

“But I didn’t really know what I was forgiving at the time, did I?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale pushed himself on his elbows so that he could look down at Crowley. “Does that mean you’ve changed your answer?”

Crowley eyed him a moment in silence, and then, without warning, eased Aziraphale’s sensitive, swollen cock into his mouth. 

“Oh my,” Aziraphale croaked, overcome by the feeling of Crowley’s hot, wet mouth sliding over him. Down and down he went, slow as a glacier, until he took it all, and then he just...stopped. His tongue kept moving, and the back of his throat engulfed the head of Aziraphale’s cock with an irresistible, pillowy softness, but his head stopped moving, and Aziraphale was trapped in this exquisite pleasure, the anticipation making his legs tremble.

Abruptly, his arms gave out, and he found himself flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He raised his head to look back down at Crowley, only to see that the demon was looking right back at him, eyebrows lifted in challenge. His hands gripped Aziraphale’s hips, long elegant fingers digging in and holding them down with firm pressure.

All Aziraphale could do was claw at the black bed sheets helplessly, as seconds bled into minutes of this perfect torture. 

“You really are a demon,” Aziraphale groaned, and Crowley only contracted his throat around Aziraphale in response, making him buck against the hands holding him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for the way I behaved. Please, please move, damn you.”

Crowley hummed around his cock, as if considering Aziraphale’s plea, the vibration of it sending another shivery wave of lust through Aziraphale.

Another long moment and Crowley pulled off with a wet sound, making Aziraphale groan. 

“I’ll forgive you this time,” he answered. His head lowered again, and this time he left no room for teasing. Aziraphale’s silly human vessel could barely keep up with the change in stimuli, and in no time he was coming down Crowley’s tight throat, making a sound he would be thoroughly embarrassed about later.

The usually decorative heart inside of Aziraphale’s chest was going haywire, and he melted into the sheets as Crowley finished him off and finally withdrew.

“Come up here,” Aziraphale demanded and Crowley sinuously slid along Aziraphale’s body like the serpent he was until he appeared above him, grinning devilishly. 

“Enjoy yourself, angel?” he asked, tongue peeking out to lick his reddened lips.

Aziraphale responded by pulling his head down and kissing those lips, feeling Crowley’s erection rub against him, still trapped inside his black trousers.

“Will you take them off?” he asked. In the blink of an eye, Crowley’s clothes were gone. They both sighed at all that nice, new friction between them, and Aziraphale wasted no time wrapping a hand around Crowley’s erection.

“It’s my turn to take care of you now,” he said. Crowley moaned at that, a sound that was almost painful, and tucked his face against Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale ran a soothing hand down Crowley’s back as his other one continued to stroke in between their bodies.

“That’s right,” Aziraphale said, sensing what Crowley needed. “You always take such good care of me, don’t you? You always know just what I need.” Crowley nodded against him frantically.

“Always,” he said, lifting his head and gazing at Aziraphale with golden eyes that seemed desperate for Aziraphale to understand. “Angel, always.”

Aziraphale’s heart nearly overflowed with tenderness. He reached up and kissed Crowley’s cheek, his forehead, his eyelids when they fluttered shut. 

“I know,” Aziraphale assured him gently. “You really are so kind and so lovely.” Crowley’s thrusting became erratic, and Aziraphale bent a knee to give him more room. “I’ve already loved you for 6000 years,” he whispered into Crowley’s ear. “And I’m going to love you for 12,000 more.”

Crowley froze above him and then his hips hitched once, twice, and he was coming messily all over both of them.

Aziraphale kept touching him, still marveling at getting the opportunity after so much wanting. His hands ran through Crowley’s hair and the demon let out a contented sigh, arching himself into Aziraphale’s fingers.

“Don’t stop,” he murmured.

Aziraphale smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.”

Glancing sideways, Aziraphale noticed the clock on Crowley’s bedside table. It was stuck at 9:27:38 am. 

“Erm, Crowley. Did you ever restart time?”

“Hmm?” Crowley asked blearily. He blinked at the clock and said, “Oh.” With a lazy wave of his hand, time resumed again.

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this blanket permission to use this story for any remix, podfic, translation, fanart or other transformative work you'd like, but please inform me, credit me and provide me any links so that I can include it in the notes. 
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/theres-a-goldensky).


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